What You Only Ever Find
by Dollfayce
Summary: She had only postponed the inevitable. Rating change in future.
1. Nothing so Frightening

WATCH OUT—YOU MIGHT GET WHAT YOU'RE AFTER

The wine was red and deep, with an insidious aftertaste of some rich fruit—an inexplicably familiar taste. It could explain why she saw him later. Some psychosomatic thing.

Sarah swallowed, and winced, and shook her head in appreciation as she laughed. Her friend Britta laughed with her. It was a good day for the adult Sarah. She had just won a writing fellowship, thanks to her latest playwriting endeavor. Britta had reminded her throughout the evening, _no one_ wins fellowships any more. Not in this city. Not in this economy. Sarah, reinvented as professional playwright, with short dark hair and piercing eyes, was just bright enough and just lovely enough for people to be jealous. Not that she cared. Their jealousy and love was intoxicating. And to be fair, she was already a little intoxicated on wine.

Britta had taken her out, to a nice, low-key little wine bar downtown. At one point, Britta just had to ask wherever Sarah got her ideas. For a girl who had grown up wanting to be an actress, it was quite the step for Sarah to go from acting in worlds to creating them herself. And her play was quite the hot new ticket: a hysterical realist imagining of the Labyrinth mythos, with Ariadne as hero and Minos as minotaur. It was a huge hit. Already, there was talk of New York. There was talk of agents and mass printings and occasions to buy fancy dresses.

Sarah just laughed away the question, as she always did.

"Oh you know," she said, behind her crystal glass. "These things just come to you."

It became late. They stumbled outside, arm in arm. Britta was one of her few friends, and Sarah was grateful for her friendship. She had not had time for much of a social life, which only stung her rarely. It's just that, as she always said, nothing fell into your lap. Anything you wanted, you had to fight for. And she had fought for this success, for the power to shape her own world. You will always find what you are looking for. But you have to fight for it.

As they walked out into the road, a familiar shape caught her eye. There was someone off to the side, leaning against the wall a dozen feet from the door. It was a man, thin and light-haired, holding a cigarette with long thin fingers. He was watching them.

She had seen him before, that much was certain, except she had pretty much written him off as a dream—some specter to cause a catch in her throat, a man draped in dark, all pale angles. The features were sharp, and the the hair had more of silver ice than the blue and gold of before. But, oh, she knew that face. She knew that shape.

His lips curled over sharp teeth. Sarah felt cold. His hat brim was too low—and who even wears a hat these days? And his eyes were shadow sockets. But she knew him. She knew that face.

"Sarah?" a girl's voice said. "Sarah," it grabbed her, and she remembered to breathe. "Sarah, you're staring, what's going on?"

No, not now. She was ten years older. And she had quite put it all behind her. She was a moderately successful playwright now, of all things.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," she smiled, not taking her eyes off the man. She strained to see his face in the shadows, lit only by a cigarette cherry when he inhaled. It was the only time she could see his face, and it is not enough to make any judgement. Britta was waiting, hanging about awkwardly to make sure her friend was okay.

"Um..." Britta said.

Sarah laughed. "Sorry! Just thinking about something. See you later, okay?" She hugged her friend goodbye, and sent her off into the night.

As soon as Britta is out of earshot, Sarah grabbed her phone and called home. Fortunately, Toby himself answered, to save her from explaining to her father or stepmother exactly why she is calling the house at two o' clock in the morning.

"Hey what's up," Toby said.

"Toby? Honey. Why aren't you in bed?"

He laughed. "Dude. You're the one calling. I'm playing Playstation with some friends. What's up, is everything okay?"

"Are _you _okay?"

"Sure. I mean, Rob and Evan are here. We got pizza. We're fine."

"All right then. Go to sleep soon though. I love you."

"Bye."

She flipped the phone shut, pressed it momentarily to her lips, and made a decision

After taking a breath, Sarah turned around and walked toward the man. "Hi. Do I know you?" It poured out, completely without poise. As she reached him, Sarah almost lost her breath. She knew the answer to her question. It _was_ him. The monster, the King, with his frosty smile and jagged teeth and crystal gaze. Her old gilded horror, dressed in subtle gradations of grey. In a marked turnabout from how she remembered him, he was dressed subtly and tastefully, in clothes that were obviously expensive in their nonchalant beauty.

The smile he gave her was icy and electric. He feigned confusion. "Oh, do we?" He offered nothing else. She must do all the work.

"I know you from somewhere."

"Oh _really." _He looks her over, his gaze lingering on her body, not so much to take her in as to annoy her._ "_I _am_ a lucky man."

"What are you doing here?"

"Had a drink. Having a cigarette. Much like you, I suppose. I'm sorry, though, I don't remember you from everywhere."

Sarah felt a tragic vertigo. "I _know_ you," she said, trailing off a bit.

"Are you quite all right?"

"Why aren't you admitting it?"

The man looked around, as if seeking a way out. "Didn't you have a friend with you? Very pretty girl." There was a purr in his voice that made her hate Britta, irrationally. "Perhaps you can call her to take you home."

"It's you. You look-" but there was no kindness in his face. No sweetness in his composure, and no mercy. She had raised her voice, and some of the people pouring out the doors as the club closed were pooling around them in little curious eddies.

"Then what's my name?" the man said.

She narrowed her lips and looked at him. Was she insane? Was she crazy? Was all of this finally catching up to her and she had fallen to the edge? But she had accomplished so much, and she could accomplish so much more. She could certainly do something as simple as say,

"Jareth." The name shivered through her lips. She had never said it to his face before.

He laughed, his distracted cackle. "Jareth! What a name!"

"Are you—are you not?"

"Life's so confusing, isn't it?"

She balked, and took a step back. Perhaps she really was overly exhausted. Perhaps she had drunk more than she planned on. Perhaps she really had gone over some bend, and hadn't gotten over whatever it was had happened as a child.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I must be mistaken."

"Sarah," he said, and it was a soft call she remembered from before. "Do you really remember me?"

"Of course I do," she said, and they stood there looking at each other. She supposed an embrace was out of the question, as he had been confrontational at best. It had probably all just been a large understanding. Yet he had given her so much. He had given her her dreams.

"How did you find me?"

"You've always burned so bright, Sarah. You are never hard to find."

She stared hard, so he would know that she would not be charmed, unaware that he was telling the truth. "Why are you here?" she finally said. "I called Toby, he's fine."

Jareth looked confused. "Toby—oh, the baby? Well, of course, I have let him be. Charming lad. You didn't ask me to take him. And like I've told you, I have never done anything you haven't asked me to."

"You haven't...stolen anything?"

"You have nothing to steal. You have only broken crystals. What you think are your dreams."

"I remember you always had a pretty liberal definition of what I wanted."

He sneered. "And I was always right. You never gave me any credit or thanks, to be sure, but I was and am always right."

"_Jareth._ Why are you here?"

He shrugged, bony shoulders strange in modern clothes. His eyes flicked to her mouth, and hers to his thin-lipped predatory smile. Sarah remembered how he made her feel, when she was young, and how being older evidently exacerbated this longing. How she suddenly thought how sweet it would be to press her lips to his. Perhaps he knew her thoughts. He was always so clever. But then again, so was she.

She couldn't bring herself to turn heel and leave. "So...um. " The words felt foolish. "Aren't you going to do anything?"

He shrugged. "What would you like me to do? Sarah...I was never your enemy." His eyes had such a sadness, and she noticed the crows feet and frown lines she had never remarked before, and he looked so grey and tired—cut from paper, and painted like a man.

"You were never my friend."

"Is this about the Labyrinth?" He said it was if she was being petty and irrational. "You can't deny you were better for the experience."

"That is _not _the definition of friendship. Look. Let's find somewhere to talk. I feel like we never got closure anyway."

"I have places to be."

"Oh yes? How long have you been up here?"

He took another drag of his cigarette. Sarah disliked smoking cigarettes, but was not averse to the smell, which to her had always seemed so bitter and adult. Intoxicating. "You're not afraid of me?"

"What, are you going to rape and kill me? Kidnap me? You could do that right now."

"Which would be a little uncouth," he said, his lips twisting just a little. Like a regal demon. Sarah gave a little shiver, imperceptible to the man. She remembered him. She remembered being overwhelmed and fascinated by him. She did not necessarily remember the feeling of wanting to scratch and bite and kiss every inch of him, to wrap her legs around him, to possess him. The image played in her mind, a quick jump-cut, a flash of another life. She blinked, and when she focused again on him she wondered if he had put that image in her mind, and what it would serve, and if he was even capable of doing so.

They returned to her place, which is simply decorated in blues and bloods and cream colors. Decorations were lush, but spare. She gestured for him to take a seat on the couch, and looked him up and down as he obeyed. He was all smooth slim lines, the modern clothes he had chosen enhancing his build nicely. It was very strange, having him on her turf, in this intimate space. Especially after all this time. The same thought might have occurred to Jareth. He was polite and reserved as he took off his coat and folded it, carefully placing it next to him on the couch. Jareth sat down, looking at her expectantly.

"Can I get you anything to drink, or eat, or...whatever," she finished lamely.

He waved her away. "You have a lovely home," he said.

She waved him away, and sat next to him on the couch.

"Let's talk. And we really only have one thing to talk about. Which is—why are you here, and not in your maze, Jareth."

He smiled, the wide animal smile she remembered, with bared sharp teeth. He never looked completely human when he smiled.

"The short answer? Is that I am uncertain. The borders between our worlds are becoming thin again, and one thing looks much like the other. I am not sure why this is. It could be poison, it could be pain, it could be fate, it could be anything. All that I know, is that you have invested too much of yourself within me. And you carry too much of me within you. This is unsustainable. I need to return home, and _stay _home. You have to forget me. You have to let me go."

"I _have_ let you go. I _have_ moved on."

"And yet here I am. One of your unconquered demons. We have only switched places, Sarah," he said. "I am in your maze now. It is no longer a concrete maze, but it a maze nonetheless."

"What do you mean?" she said. "I solved your Labyrinth. I escaped. I became happy. I became successful. Jareth, I was out just tonight celebrating a pretty major professional success. I write plays. I can shape my own worlds, and don't need yours anymore. I am happy."

"Are you happy?" he said. "Are you really. Is this your dream, is this what you first saw in those crystals all those years ago? Sarah. You are 25 years old now. I know how it is. I know how you feel. And it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster every day. Every single moment of your life you must make a thousand choices as to what is good and important and fun, and unlike my Labyrinth there is no going back."

He cocked his head thoughtfully as was his wont, only without the usual tendrils of long hair falling over his face. "Once you choose, you have to live with the foreclosure of all the other options those choices foreclose. And you just gained a significant success, and you see how insignificant it is, and you are starting to see how as time gains momentum your choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until you arrive at some point of some sumptuous branch of all life's branching complexity where you are trapped on one path, and time speeds you through stages of apathy and atrophy and decay until you are imprisoned forever."

Jareth laughed. "It is _dreadful_, isn't it? Yours is a far worse Labyrinth to dwell in than mine."

She snorted. "How dire. But, Jareth, that's what life is. That's what being an adult is about. I mean, in your own words since it's my own choices that'll lock me in, it seems unavoidable—if I want to be any kind of grownup I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them."

"As you say."

She frowned, and began to fidget with one of the throw pillows. "Jeez, Jareth. Did you just come to bum me out? Good heavens. This is a terrible new trick of yours. I think I liked being kidnapped better." She was pretending his words didn't horrify. She remembered too, how he always was so cold, and so cruel.

He only smiled, and changed the subject to her great professional success. She took care not to mention that her award-winning play had everything to do with him. They ended up talking for some time more, but it really was becoming quite late.

"How long are you up here for anyway?" she asked, like he was just on holiday.

"I'm not sure," he said. "That depends on you."

"Well, I'm exhausted at the moment, so any nefarious plan will have to wait till tomorrow. Do you just want to maybe stay here tonight? This couch is actually pretty comfortable." She was beginning to realize that he could be in more dire straits than he was admitting. That maybe the great goblin king was not aboveground by choice. Something in his eyes, she supposed, or his strange sad demeanor.

He paused. "I suppose that would be more convenient."

"Right. Hold on, I'll grab sheets and stuff." She walked off to the linen closet to obtain extra sheets and blankets, and took one of her own pillows from the room. As she did so, it was difficult not to consider how surreal the experience was, that she would soon have Jareth sleeping on her couch.

He stood as she approached, and watched with some curiosity as she made him up a bed.

"Thank you," he said, sitting down, leaning back. "This will be fine."

She smiled, her hands on her hips, and made to leave. She couldn't. Instead she sat on the couch, her back against his legs.

"Jareth. You might—you might be right. I think something is broken in me," she blurted. without a thought of how appropriate it was to share her deepest fears with a man who would almost certainly turn it against her. "I am never really happy. I am never really complete. I never feel myself."

He looked sad. He reached out, touching her cheek. "You were never supposed to come back, after eating that peach. You were supposed to stay there forever. I fear you still suffer from its poison."

"But I don't understand. I beat it. I escaped. You never had any power over me."

"And yet you still remember. You were the one who remembered me. You were the one who approached me. I want to be free of this, Sarah, as much as you ever did. You put too much of yourself in me. You carry too much of me within you. I want to return home. You have to let me go, forever."

They were silent for a moment, and something in her burned and flared. She leaned forwards and kissed him, far more hungrily than she had been intending. She felt his initial shock, but he leaned into the kiss. He tasted electric. He tasted like storms. It was clear that she not kissing a man but a fey, and it was clear that she had forgotten that even the oldest antipathy can still break your heart. She steadied herself on his bony shoulder, and he leaned back to wrap his hands round her waist, one hand moving up her ribcage.

Sarah had wanted to do something like that for so long, it wasn't till she opened her eyes and saw his mismatched ones all alight that she realized what she was really doing.

She felt suddenly and acutely that her insides had gone missing, and had been replaced and flushed with adrenaline. She stood up suddenly. "I'm—I'm sorry," she said, backing up and almost tripping against the coffee table. "I didn't mean to-"

Jareth made as if to stand. "Sarah. Allow me apologize. That's not why I'm here. I-"

"Look, um, have anything you want from the kitchen, bathroom's down there, I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight." It was not Sarah at her most graceful, or her most in-control. But to her credit she walked towards her room with every intention of staying there like it was any other night. Jareth should know that it was never wise to test Sarah's willpower.

Still, the hallway seemed a thousand endless miles to her room. Once inside she dove straight into bed, not even pausing to change into pajamas. She pulled the cold bedding up and around her and stared at the ceiling. Her head was heavy on the pillow. She remained there for some time before sleeping, not daring to move, not daring to break the spell, not daring to check if Jareth were really there or just some sign she would never be all right again. Certainly, she heard no noise from outside her room.

_If you cover yourself with a blanket_, she remembered thinking as a child, _the monsters couldn't get you._

She covered herself with the blanket, still, like a child, not daring to close her eyes.

Nothing happened, of course. She closed her eyes.

(_But what if he followed her—what if he slipped into bed with her, or maybe she could go outside and find him, and...)_

She uncovered herself so the filtered city lights from her window would drive away these silly fantasies, and instead stared at her bedroom door, plain and white and completely uninteresting. Maybe if she stared long enough she would realize how unlikely this all was, and that even if he was here now there was no way he'd still be there in the morning.

It didn't help.

He was right about everything. And, she could still taste the peach—that insidious aftertaste of lust and the unknown.

A/N

Look. This could get dark. And somewhat sexual. Just a warning in case it seems like a departure from my older stuff. Because hopefully, it will be.

Speech about "some sumptuous branch of all life's branching complexity" liberally borrowed from "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," by David Foster Wallace. May he rest in peace, and may all of you read all his books. Or at least that one.

I love you all, as always. I love this sharing of enthusiasm that fanfiction promotes. Let me know what you think.

~~Dollfayce


	2. It's Not What You Want

IT'S NOT WHAT YOU WANT...

Sarah blinked awake, unfortunately, utterly, and immediately awake. The fact irritated her, as not only had she had been counting on sleep to settle some distance and perspective on last night's events, but she also would have preferred a more gentle arrival into the morning. She lie still for some minutes, and took a couple of deep breaths, listening, feeling herself in the hot tangle of sheets and blankets and sunlight pouring in. With a sudden cringe, she remembered her wine-soaked lack of inhibition culminating in that kiss. Maybe it wouldn't come up.

Sarah heard running water in the kitchen, which simultaneously let her know that it was all real, and that she had to get up. Slowly, deliberately, she got up and put on some clothes; simple jeans and subtle blouse. During her ablutions she purposely didn't look down the hall as she applied her makeup, black and purple like soft bruising, bringing out her light eyes. She paused at the arch of the bathroom door, before taking a deep breath, holding up her head, and walking into the kitchen.

And there, like nothing was different or strange, was a tall blond man at her kitchen counter slicing fruit into a bowl with a little paring knife. The warm fruit contrasted against the grays and pale platinums of the man. The coffee maker was percolating, with an inviting scent. She could not restrain a short bark of laughter, seeing the haughty Goblin king in such prosaic surroundings. It was almost enough to make up for the jolt of seeing him with the peaches. She ascertained that they were the ones that she had bought earlier in the week—at least, her fruit bowl was depleted.

Jareth was in his muted grays again, same clothes as last night, of course. There was almost something faded and tired about his demeanor, in the way he smiled—vulnerable, even.. She wondered if she had been remembering him wrong, all this time. He just seemed like a slightly off man, with his sharp features and eyes like blue flame. The king looked up when she entered and smiled, showing his jagged lupine teeth, and he poured the coffee into two waiting mugs.

"Good morning, Sarah," he said brightly, as she sat at one of the stools in front of the counter. "How do you take it?"

"What?" Although alert, it was still far too early.

"The coffee. Just cream, correct?"

Sarah stared at him. "You know how to work a coffeemaker?" She smiled through her own question, having chosen that particular one against such promising options as: You're real? You're here? You spent the night? I kissed you?

He smiled back, a devil half-grin, and turned to put the coffeepot back on the warmer. "I've been up here for longer than you think."

"Cute," she said, and took the coffee and one of the bowls of fruit without a word of thanks. She was normally a polite and pleasant girl, but rather felt the circumstances here did not demand it.

Jareth did not join her, but remained on his side of the counter. They were silent, as Sarah took a couple of sips and prepared herself. The coffee was unnecessary, as the adrenaline jolt of seeing him was quite enough to wake anyone up. But he didn't need to know that. She instead luxuriated into the acrid bitter spice of it, warm and familiar, the smell enveloping her like any other morning. Jareth watched her, as he carefully ate the sliced fruit.

She watched him, his teeth cutting into the soft fruit, his lips pursing around the pieces. He watched her back.

She concluded then that the peaches were probably safe, if distracting, and she was only being jumpy. Fine. After a few moments, she reached into his bowl and grabbed a slice. This was, after all, her house. Her turf. Disappointingly, his only reaction was to slide his bowl closer, as if he was indulging a child. "So, Jareth. You're still here. Let's discuss this fact. You were telling me that you're what, stuck here?"

"No," he said, and his tone expressed condescending patience without in any way being patient, which was a feat. "I am caught _between_. I need to return permanently to the Labyrinth. My home. My realm. I need you to accompany me there, and leave me."

She crossed her legs, leaned forward. "You can't go back? That seems stuck to me."

"I _can_ go back, but I won't be happy. Complete. I will be pulled back. My path will...well, it will not be clear. It is a direct result of you. Believe me, I would not be here otherwise." He looked around, distaste curling his lip ever so slightly.

There was the Jareth she remembered. "I believe you," she said, but then stopped fidgeting with her coffee cup and looked at him hard. "Jareth. Is this really all you want from me? A little help on the return journey? A chaperone? And why should I do this, exactly?"

He leaned forward as well. "Because you do care for me—ah-ah, yes you do," he said, cutting off her protest. "Remember I was always there, dancing by your bedside, that little doll." She blushed as she recalled that elf-doll he had evidently based his appearance on. (Or was it the other way around?) "In your mind and in your heart. Watching out for you. I offered you everything. And it's only because of me that you are the woman you are." He leaned back, pleased with himself.

She laughed. "Oh dear. I was just a little girl who said the right words and believed they would work. You were just trying to catch me up, with your offers and protestations."

"That...is untrue," he said, but did not elaborate. When he frowned, his face was drawn and dark. And he looked away as if he was biting something back.

The young woman had always imagined such a different meeting, had they ever met again. But there was one thing consistent in all her imaginings—one question she always imagined herself asking. "First, answer me this. This is what has always baffled me, Jareth. Why it was me, that you offered all these things to, that you devoted all this time too. I hold no illusions about myself. I am pretty, yes, but there are millions of prettier girls. I am bright, but there are millions brighter. I am not particularly exceptional in any way. And yet. You offered me yourself. Just another trap, at the end, taking advantage of the fact that I was young and scared and you were handsome and powerful?"

He would not meet her eyes. "That's not really important, is it?" She was obviously making him uncomfortable.

"See," she said, picking up a peach segment and popping it into her own mouth. "I think it is."

"I have done you nothing but favors, Sarah. Look at your lessons you have learned. Look at the woman you've become. And all because you've learned to fight for what you want. Of following the path to your dreams and not taking anything for granted. Look at what you've done. Look at what I've done for you. I would say you owe me a favor in return." There was nothing playful or mercurial in the way he spoke. He was deadly serious. And when his eyes stared, they burned.

Sarah straightened up. "Yes, I fought, I had no other choice. And what about you?"

"I'm fighting as we speak."

There was something so businesslike about their conversation. So transactional. Sarah wondered if Jareth had always been like this, or if he was mirroring her no-nonsense demeanor so as not to set her off-guard. There were no taunts or teases. No petty tricks. It was completely unlike the strange man she remembered.

It was suspicious.

"Okay" she said. "Cards on the table. I'm trying to remember what you told me last night. Because I beat your Labyrinth, or something, I took some of your power away from you, is that right? You're kind of caught between your Underground and this world. You need me to chaperone you back, and for-"

"Bid farewell to me, forever." He held her gaze, and smiled. "Forget me, and the Labyrinth. Or our worlds will bleed together irrevocably, and trust me when I say that is to neither one of our advantages." He took fruit from her bowl now, and smiled before popping it into his own mouth.

Sarah rolled her eyes before she felt an unexpected pang of sadness, although as far as she was concerned the Labyrinth episode was a lifetime ago. She had spent years trying to escape it. This might be the final chapter after all. He reached out for her hand, as if he knew what she was thinking, and she drew her breath in at his touch.

"That is too bad," she said. "So that's the only way you can sort out whatever?"

"The Labyrinth, like this world, is rule-bound, and as lord of the realm I must abide by its rules as well. You see, Sarah, the Labyrinth must be self contained. Already, even with your play you've published, you've put us in danger by letting it leak into a thousand subconsciousnesses. If they call me, I must come. If you release me, I can go. Just say your right words, Sarah. I will be extremely grateful.

"You read my play?"

"I saw it."

"Oh. Thanks." For some reason, this flustered her.

He nodded.

"Let's go, then," she said. "I'm ready."

"Say the words. You have to ask."

"You can't just take me?"

"No."

"So, what do I do, then? I have to like say a spell or whatever? And we'll get whisked back, like before?"

"I only have ever done what you asked. That is all I can do. You were too young to understand, then." He stood up, walked to the other side of the counter, held out his hands expectantly like they were about to pray together. Palms up, long bird-boned fingers, angled joints and piano-wire tendons. "And it's not my fault that you did not know what you were seeking," he added wryly.

She ignored his entreaty, instead pushing gently past him, her hand on his arm to let him know she was not affronted be his gesture. Again at his touch there was that electric jolt as she felt lean muscle under thin fabric, that thunderstorm touch. Once on the other side of the counter, she gathered the dishes into the sink. It was somehow easier, having the ceramic white surface to hold between them.

"I don't know what to say," she said.

"That's a lie."

"All right. You're right. I'll help you, Jareth," she said, "because I can't have you in my world. That enough is clear. I have my own life, and you are not a part of it. As you have yours, and I am not a part of it. And most of all, it's true that despite my own feelings about our episode together, I do owe you a lot." She stopped then, because she was actively trying to convince herself, and did not want to appear easily manipulated.

"And I ask for so little," he remarked. Sarah could tell that he was trying to be nonchalant, but there was more than a hint of desperation, around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Sharp little flickers of something harsh . Sarah thought for a moment of denying him. He does bring out the cruelty in her, a sharp little flicker she didn't like in herself, like the sunlight glinting off the paring knife. The moment passed

"I don't know how true that is." She approached him again, a little slowly, still not quite believing he was there in front of him. She was thankful he hadn't yet needled her about kissing him. (Drunken hormones, a silly smear of lust.) Her heart fluttered. She didn't know if it was because she was returning to the Labyrinth, or because she would get closure at last, or something else. She took his hands in hers, and they were dry and cool and strong. He twisted them round so he was holding her hands, like she was a lady in his court. His grip was strong. She was looking up into his alien eyes, and his hair seemed longer and more gold. His teeth sharper. She again felt the urge to possess him.

"Jareth," she said to distract herself, and because she had always wanted to know. "What would have happened if I had taken the crystal at the end of it all? If I had agreed to your terms? Would I have been a courtier, a queen, one more subject? A goblin? Dead?"

"I would have kept my promise," he said cryptically, and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Take us home, Sarah."

Sarah closed her eyes. "Fine, but I'm warning you that this is gonna sound lame." She sighed. "Here I go. Goblin King, Goblin King, right here where you stand, return us now to your hostile land."

She felt winds rise, even though they were still inside, and he pulled her close against the cold. Her stomach dropped as if the ground had fallen out from beneath them, and she held onto him until everything settled.

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her apartment but a large room. He was no longer wearing the subtle grays and whites but something more along the garish lines of what she remembered. He smelled of leather, now, instead of wool, and the clothes hugged his frame. Less tasteful, certainly, but more compelling. She couldn't help looking him up and down, and glanced quickly away to disguise it and so she wouldn't have to meet his face.

But she wasn't outside. It wasn't the yellow landscape web of before. It was a large round room, but not the throne room, or anywhere else that she had ever been.

It was in fact an immense round room, a bottomed out sphere with windows. From the architecture it looked like the top of a tower, but it looked more like a bedroom or dwelling, as there was a giant bed and screened off areas. It was all in what she had termed Fairy Restoration, or Degenerate Venetian, she could never decide. All tattered silks and tapestries, and filigree and wood. The entire structure was punctuated with a dozen grand windows all round, especially ones set in a gargantuan door near the bed that opened out to accompanying balcony. She looked around appreciatively.

"This is lovely. Are we right in the castle?"

"Yes," he said. "There's no need to go into the Labyrinth. Not for this."

"This, huh? Whatever this is." She broke hold with him to go to the large window and looked out into the Labyrinth. The window opened like a door She was surprised to find a lump in her throat. That rocky impossible web. It was real. She had conquered it, and defeated this land. (And the lord of the land.) She was also surprised to find she still remembered everything, a literal dream come true. Suddenly, she felt keenly that she couldn't linger, or the choice would be more difficult. She turned to Jareth and walked back, hugging herself. "So," she smiled wanly. "How does this work? I leave you here? Is this the last time I will ever see you?

He crossed his arms, cocked his head and smiled. Sarah was taken aback. He was transformed. It could be because he was in his own element, but whatever the reason he was not the wounded thing she saw back in her apartment. He is sharper, a razor. "Perhaps. It depends on you. You could stay for a little while. Time is different here, you know that."

"You know I can't stay. I'm afraid I won't leave."

He said nothing for a moment, just looked at her strangely. "It's your choice."

"I guess this is goodbye, then," she said, sadly, softly. She had often fantasized about a moment like this as well. About what she would say and do. What she needed to say, and do, for closure. How much power she had imbued in him that might return—catharsis through cathexis. Sometimes, in her imagination, she would give a speech. Sometimes she would slap him. Sometimes she would kiss him, and he would kiss her back. Sometimes, more. But she had not thought of a moment like this for some years now, and was mostly unprepared.

Instead, she only approached him, and reached out her hand for his cheek carefully. "Thank you, Jareth. For everything you've given me, whether because of you or, mostly, in spite of you." She smiled. "I will miss you, and your Labyrinth, if I do remember." She withdrew her hand. They were very close, and he leaned in, his eyes dark with something that could have been want, and again she was seized with the mad urge to-

Sarah stepped away from him, politely, and looked up, demure. "Goodbye, Jareth. Now. How do I get back home?

Jareth curled his lip, and she saw again the haughty petty thing she remembered. He turned from her to walk to the same large window she had been looking out of, and surveyed his kingdom. "You don't. Unless you can figure out how."

She went cold, her stomach turning over all over again. Obviously she had misunderstood. "What do you mean?"

And then she noticed. There were no doors, except onto the balcony. There were only windows, to show her that she is very high up indeed, in this tower trap. Too far to fall. She could not get out without some sort of help. After one furious look, she ran to the large window, undid the latch and threw it open. She ran outside onto the white stone. This was indeed in the tower of the castle, hundreds of feet from the ground. The maze city sprawled obscenely beneath her. Jareth remained in the doorway, sneering.

"You tricked me," she said, looking to the sky and back and her voice was flat and cold. "Jareth. Take me home right now." She marched up to be next to him, in front of the amazingly huge windows. The light was fractured yellow through the glass. The wind blew, animating the drapes, dirty little whirlwinds of color and space.

To his credit, he didn't completely deny it. "Tricked? No. Misled you, perhaps." He looked down at the girl, who was all ablaze with quiet fury. "You will not be returning home, however."

"No. There has to be a way. Dammit, Jareth, do I need to run your godforsaken Labyrinth again? Are you really that bored? I will. I am more than up to the task."

"I know," he said. "Which is why you'll be staying here."

"And where's this? Not your bedroom, I hope."

"No, of course not. This is the Round Room."

She arched her eyebrows. "Yeah. I can see that. How is that relevant?"

"I cannot, it is true, hold you in this land against your will, with no way out. But I can keep you here." He threw out his hand, giving a sadistic smile. "This...well, this, Sarah, is the most difficult maze in my kingdom. There are no evident choices to be made, nothing binary and commonplace, no yes's and no's, just a listless trickles of why-should-I's. It's more like your adult life. Living by rote. Staying in the same place. It's nothing worse than anything humanity would inflict upon you."

Only then did Sarah begin to panic. She didn't have real life figured out at all, other than to keep your head down and always fight. This sort of maze might be impossible for her. "_No_," she said. "Please no. Don't keep me here. Jareth. Let's think about it. There has to be another way."

"Oh, so reasonable now!" he said, with a cruel smile. "There is no other way."

The king turned to face her full on, glorious and gold again. The life seemed completely returned to him, and he was anything but vulnerable. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she let him, to maintain his good will. "Because, Sarah, I am indeed in dire straits. You took too much of me back home. I cannot live in two places. Neither can you. So it is meet for me to be present in one world. I choose, naturally, my own."

She could no longer stand his touch, and threw his hands from her, pushed him away. It was harder to do than his slight frame would have her believe. "Damn you. I should have known better. It was too easy, and you were too sweet."

He twirled his hand and pulled out a crystal. "But I _can_ be sweet, Sarah. Your offer stands still. Stay here with me, voluntarily. You can have..._anything _you want. No more struggle. No more turmoil and loneliness and disappointment..." and he spat the last word like black venom. His long fingers cradled the crystal ball, his gas-flame eyes pleading and hungry, the same emptiness and fear as all those years before. "It doesn't have to be cruel."

Sarah looked at him, an alien and harsh presence with a razor face, his eyes drawing the very blood from her face and heart. She did not believe for an instant that his professed interest in her wasn't a more complicated sort of trick. She was, after all, just a human girl like billions of others. Nothing special. He knew she was attracted to him, against all her better judgment. But she was no weak little girl anymore, putting affairs of the heart above all else. If he wanted to pretend, though—well. She could give as good as she got.

She twisted her face, made her eyes look impossibly sad, let her full lip tremble. "But how can I trust you now? If I accept, what would happen to me? With you, I always seem to go from bad to worse." 

"Oh no," he cooed, no doubt with the full knowledge that the masculine purr of his voice was incredibly lovely, incredibly enticing. "Here, stay. Stay with me. You could be happy here. You could have everything here. Money. Love. Fame. Adulation. I will have my fae perform your works as soon as they are written, to the adoration and acclaim of entire kingdoms. You will be worshipped. You will be loved."

She let a tear escape. Although acting did not end up being her profession, she was nothing if not talented. "Jareth..." she said. She walked forward slowly, and wrapped her arms around him, clutching his shoulders, tucking her face against his narrow chest. Kept him close. He called her bluff, for he encircled her with one arm, pulling his other hand with the crystal closer, keeping it in her vision. "I feel this is a very dangerous choice—one I'm not really informed enough to make." He said nothing.

She turned in his embrace, so his hand was at her hipbone instead of at the small of her back. It felt lovely, and she wished for a strange moment that all this intimacy was reciprocal and real, and not a ham-fisted attempt to play some oversexed wannabe god. Still, though, as an actress one supposed to play with what you have, and her enjoyment was real. She let out a contented little sigh, and he pressed himself closer so she could lean against his chest, let him carry some of the weight. With her gentle writhing, his fingers fell between her jeans and blouse, skin on skin, gently caressing. She almost purred, oh, lower, lower, before she remembered that this was not real.

They were facing the window, with the Goblin City and Labyrinth just beyond. A whole kingdom.

"Here," she said, taking his other hand, pulling the crystal closer to herself, pressing the hand between her breasts because—well,really, when was she going to have another chance at this. She could feel his heart beat faster, and hoped he could not tell how her own heart was pounding.

She cradled the hand with the crystal. "Let me see it," she said, taking the crystal, filling his newly empty hand with her free one, pressing it to her. The little orb was shockingly light, no more than a bubble, really. It was smooth and cold, and strangely sinuous in the way her fingers moved over its skin. "It is very hard, sometimes, Jareth. You think I don't want to just stay here, in this world? Do you have any idea what goes on out there, in mine?"

"More than you think," he whispered in her ear, a delicious sound that emptied her head momentarily of any rational thought.

This was a dangerous game, and she knew she might be over her head.

He continued. "You are not the only one to make it through my Labyrinth, of course, but you are one of the few. I can't let you back out there. You always find what you seek." He leaned into her neck. "And some of us want dangerous things."

"Let me go home," she said, her voice catching in her throat. If she didn't move this to end-game soon, it was very possible that she might do something she would regret.

"_Don't _defy me, Sarah," he said, in a strangely urgent tone she was all too familiar with. His fingers were digging into her now-exposed skin painfully. He meant it, she knew. And now, it would not be a little goblin snake he would throw to frighten her. He was threatening real harm.

As a child, she had balked. Of course, she was no longer a child. She curled against him, as he kissed her neck lightly, drawing in his breath in a hiss. "Or, you'll what?" she said, playfully, with all the sharp parts of the sentiment hidden under the surface.

"I will destroy you utterly," he said, in the same manner, and she realized with no slight terror that he knew exactly what she was playing at, and was only playing along. He was in complete control of all of his faculties.

"Try," she said in a normal voice, as she brought up his hand against her cheek.

"Oh, I am," he said. "You silly girl. We are not at odds. We both—we both want the same thing." there was a catch in his voice now, and she realized that maybe he was only in control of _most_ of his faculties.

"How did you always decide to take what you want?" she said.

"It's a lesson that's served you well," he said, and disentangled his fingers from hers to pluck back the crystal, holding it front of them both.

"You know," she said, still leaning against him, tilting her head back until she could see his face. "you said I could see my dreams in it. I can only see through it." It was true. He twirled his hand until suddenly there were four crystal balls. She brought up both her hands until she was cradling his, feeling the clockwork alternation of his fingers as he manipulated the crystals.

"You have to turn it this way-" he started to murmur, as she grabbed his hand tight and closed it against the crystal, crushing it against both of their hands, as blood and shards ran out between them. The rest of the crystals fell to the floor.

He roared, pulling away, pulling his hand into his body. It was covered in blood—red, she noticed disinterestedly. His pretty shirt was steeped in it. Her own hand was bleeding too, a consequence she had not considered, and she saw shiny little glints of crystal in her flesh. He backed away a few steps, out onto the balcony holding his wrist as his hand drip-dripped.

"_How dare you_," he hissed. "_You little inconsequential thing. How dare you."_

"_Take me home," _she cried, _"or I will do worse._"

He laughed, chilling. "How? How will you hurt me?" He held up his hand, and jagged crystal cut out of the his palm. He waved his other hand over it, and he was healed. "You can do nothing to me here. You can do nothing here."

Sarah was terrified by this, but her body must have interpreted it as fury. She scooped the fallen crystals off the ground and hurled them at him. Her aim was excellent, but so were his evasive maneuvers. They popped against the wall, with the crumple-ting of shattered Christmas bulbs.

"Leave me. Leave leave leave, I hate you, I have always hated you," she said.

"If that's what you want," he said coldly, and then with another gesture he was the owl she remembered, flapping away. She noticed with cool pleasure that he could not have been completely honest, because his flapping was off-kilter as if he had injured a wing.

She surveyed the room, tears in her eyes, and resisted the urge to collapse on the bed and sob. Instead, she sat and simmered. The bed was huge, and extremely nice, in lush reds and sumptuous gold. It was no comfort.

There were no doors. There was no way out. She knew Labyrinths. But this was the opposite of a Labyrinth. She couldn't go anywhere. She couldn't be. An open-air oubliette.

There was a vanity near the bed. There were various items, makeup, perfumes, all in silver. But two items stood out. She stood up and approached it. There was a crystal and a peach. She picked up the crystal, blood smearing garish across the transparent surface.

She turned it about. Sarah smiled.

A/N-

WHY IS THIS THE LONGEST CHAPTER IN THE WORLD. I'M SO SORRY.

Quote about long list of why-should-I's from _The Libertine_, which is a movie I passionately love way beyond what it necessarily merits.

That is all. Hope you enjoy!

Love,

Dollfayce


	3. Chesterton, Translated and then Again

THERE IS NOTHING SO FRIGHTENING AS A LABYRINTH WITHOUT A CENTER—chesterton after two translations.

At first, Sarah was sort of gleefully angry. There had to be a way out, she knew, given the nature of labyrinths-so she might as well express her feelings while she searched.

She hurled fabrics. She pulled back what furniture she could, scraping it along the floor. She pulled down tapestries and art, and snapped off bits of whatever she could snap off. She speculated on how far a curtain-ladder might carry her, even going so far as to pull one down, with a satisfying fwump as the heavy fabric hit the stone floor, and to drape it over the edge of the balcony.

She considered.

She realized it would take, like, forty more curtains than she had, unfortunately.

She dropped the curtain over the edge before she realized that the window faced east and now there would be no way to block sunlight.

Sarah watched it twirl and flutter down, a broken bird.

Dammit, she thought.

It was not until she was crawling around under the huge bed with the same posture and grimness as a trench soldier, looking for loose stones, that her anger cooled suddenly, and she was stuck feeling ridiculous under the bed.

Next she was contemplative.

Then she was depressed.

But by the time the third day dawned—which she always awoke to thanks to the curtain stunt—she was just bored.

The days quickly grew monotonous. When she woke up, there was always enough food for the day. It always only appeared in her sleep. Also, the room would have been mysteriously cleaned, which was a blessing the first day after her exertions. There was a bookshelf, but disappointingly it was only stocked with books she had already read. The weather remained disappointingly clement, and

Often she would pick up either the crystal or the peach. The peach stayed fresh, and was honestly looking more and more tempting. She considered eating it-just so something would happen, of course. The crystal (the blood had soon flaked off) showed her nothing, no matter how she turned it.

If Jareth wanted to win by torturing her with boredom, well then, touché. Still, she couldn't quite quell the though that he had left her here in the ROund Room to rot. To forget about her.

By sheer process of elimination, it had to be the peach or the crystal. Sort of a scorpion/grasshopper type conundrum, to go back to her childhood's gothic fiction.

It's just that, she felt, while this was all terribly dramatic and romantic or whatever for like a day, she really had to get back home.

"Okay," she said aloud. She was not proud at the speed it took for her to speak to herself seriously on a regular basis. "Let's do this."

She took the peach and the crystal and sat against the bed, holding both on either knee.

"You," she said, picking up the crystal, "are what I'd prefer. Because, obviously, my greatest dream is to get back home. But," she added, shaking it slightly as chastisement, "I can't seem to get you to do anything. I break you, you come back. I wish on you, nothing. I turn you like this," and she turned it, "and I just see shadows. Freaking thing."

"Now you," she said, addressing the peach, "are the second choice. Because last time I messed with you, things got weird. I ended up dancing creepy with Freako at a party that in retrospect I was way underage for and there were some rather horrifying things going on, probably. But so here's what I'm thinking."

She shifted her weight to address the peach. "But so now I'm thinking you're not a one-way ticket to dreamland necessarily. You might just be another link to the labyrinth. The obvious downside being what if this is one of those Hades/Persephone deals where if I eat you, I'll be under the spell or stuck here forever."

Sarah sighed. "That said, I've been eating a truckload of this labyrinth food. And I am so very, very bored. And there is such a thing as strategic surrender. So."

She held up the peach to her mouth, brushing the unpleasant fuzz against her lips. It smelled like summer wine. "This is my choice," she said out loud, although she knew she was only convincing herself.

It tasted exactly as she remembered, which was odd, because she had convinced herself she had forgotten the taste.

She chewed, swallowed, her stomach acid with expectation.

Nothing. No dizziness. No delirium.

And then.

"Five days, Sarah? Really? And the curtains."

She turned round on the bed to face where the voice came from. Jareth, all nonchalant angles, was in the window-door of the balcony looking up at the gap.

"Oh hey," she said, standing up, placing the crystal on the bed but holding onto the runny peach. "I thought that was the point, trying to escape."

"Wrong." He folded his arms, looking petulant as ever. "I told you, you can't. The point is to keep you here in my kingdom."

For all his difficulty, she really was happy to see another sentient creature. She took another bite, reflectively. "So also I notice that I'm not delirious and spinning around with a predatory fairy."

He smiled perfunctorily, his eyes cold. "Astutely observed. That's not necessarily what the fruit does."

"Why did you do that again, when I was fifteen?" she said. "To slow me down, right?" That was the answer she wanted, of course. Anything else was stupid schoolgirl fancies.

"To make my proposition more attractive. Same reason as I'm here now."

"Was it because of the peach? Can I keep eating it?" She took another bite.

"You can do whatever you want. Just as you've always been able to."

She continued to eat it. "Because—so it makes me more receptive to you, is what you're saying. Like a roofie peach." She gestured in a friendly manner for him to join her on the bed, guessing that the worst thing she could do to him was to treat him as harmless.

As she anticipated, he waved her away and remained standing. "You're overthinking this."

"Ha. Am I? You put me in a room for five days with nothing to do but think, overthinking is what you get. I assumed the crystal was, like, what I wanted, and the peach was what you wanted. For me to stay here."

"Are you going to stay here?"

She had never really figured out how to eat a peach daintily. Juice dripped sticky down her fingers. Since Jareth was there, she wiped her hands on the bedspread while maintaining eye contact. "Sure."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Until I can find a viable alternative."

"Look at you," he said, cocking his head. "No tears. No pleading."

"I'm not a teenager any more. And anyway I don't remember crying or pleading last time either," she snapped.

He was silent, appraising her.

Her stomach turned for no reason she could name, and she rushed on loudly. "Look. Jareth. You win. I'm so bored I want to die. I mean, I would keep an eye on myself, certainly, if I were you, but for the immediate future until we sort this out let's say I'll stay."

She smiled, although the words "I'll stay" out loud in her own voice seemed to crash into the air, a death knell of sorts.

One of the things that had occurred to her was that Jareth might honestly, honestly believe that he was helping her on some level, no matter how sassy he was about it. All thoughts of moral relativity aside, she realized, it was not like Jareth had like a really firm grasp of what was acceptable and what wasn't when it came to modern American mores. He had seemed legitimately baffled at their last meeting that she wasn't pleased with him, not to mention downright grateful. Jareth imprisoning her here, he probably thought once she settled down she would agree how right and wise he was, and he was doing the best thing for them both.

"Well," he finally smiled back. "I am glad to hear it."

He still made no move.

"So…" Sarah said. "Am I just going to stay here? I kind of hoped…"

"That you had found the right way? Out?"

"Yes, actually."

"You have chosen a way, to be sure," he said, cryptic, still smiling. She was always surprised at how snarled and pointed his teeth were. Inhuman. He must have seen her face darken and that she was now choosing some less kind words, because he quickly finished. "Perhaps you would like to see the new grounds."

"New?"

"Oh yes. I think you'll find them quite breathtaking." The goblin king laughed, the merriment again not reaching his eyes. He walked over to her, his mouth set in a thin wide line. With too much formality he extended a hand to help her up. His regard was extremely cool.

Sarah suddenly felt very young and stupid, and regretted her flippancy, and the fact that she still had remnants of peach juice dried on her hand like a six-year-old. She placed her fingers lightly in his hand and rose from the bed, hoping he didn't notice or if he did at least not comment on the peach pit she left on the bedspread.

He extended his arm for her to take, still distant as ever, and then Sarah only felt silly for worrying what her kidnapper thought of her eating habits.

She took his arm, and with the same strange gale she would never get used to, found herself outside and on the ground. Instinctively she leaned into him, and when she gasped he covered her hand with his.

Sarah surveyed the broken nightmare of a landscape.

"Oh my god, Jareth," she said. "What have you done?"

A/N

Why yes I'm putting grad school apps together and it's rather stressful. Why do you ask? I'm fine I tell you. Fanfic is not an escape from serious things at all.

I SAID I'M FINE.

Haha. Love you all, always, forever,

~~Dollfayce

EDIT-THE MOST TYPOS FIXED sorry guys I'm a semi-dyslexic speedreader and that means a lot of words reversed or left out altogether. It should be fixed now though.


	4. And if You do Lose Yourself

AND IF YOU DO LOSE YOURSELF

"I have done nothing," he said curtly. "This was you."

Sarah surveyed what used to be the Labyrinth. Instead of the jagged geometrics of a thousand thousand paths, walls had collapsed into each other to form some simulacrum of a city, if it could have been remotely habitable. Sarah was reminded of pictures of postwar Vienna: exquisite architectural flourishes gasping under mountains of rubble. Except it wasn't the aftermath of warfare. Things hadn't been destroyed—they were broken and, it seemed, bleeding into one another.

Some parts of it looked curiously…familiar, although, as Sarah reminded herself, she had been here before.

As a girl, when Jareth had confronted her with something frightening, she would have countered him with defensive bluster. She would have pulled away and folded her arms and complained. As an adult, she held on to him—it was his place, his place too, and he must be as devastated as she was unsettled. If nothing else, the thin tense warmth of him was something to hold on to and something to be held by.

"I don't understand," Sarah said, not looking up at him. "How have I done this? I haven't been here for ten years."

Jareth pulled away from her, crossing his arms. His appearance had changed somewhat—his hair was shorter and tamer, and his clothing, while the only word Sarah could think to describe them was still "fetishy," he could conceivably be seen in public without undue attention.

"Not physically here, no," he said. "But you took my kingdom with you. You wrote it down and put it on display and let it bleed into ten thousand other heads. And you did so without the barest thought of what it might do to me."

The words were petulant, but real hate and real pain chilled his voice. Sarah looked up sharply. She had never heard his voice so bare before.

Sarah gave a short, cold laugh. "How could I have possible known writing some stupid play would do this?"

"I don't care," he admitted frankly. "But what's done, is done." He waved his long white hand over the terrain. "And as monarch I must do everything within my power to preserve my kingdom from its enemies. Including you."

"I'm not—" she stopped. "You just could have shown me this first," she said quietly.

"I could have," he said. But I didn't." The thought had obviously not occurred to him, but he smiled anyway like it had.

He paused. "Since you have been here the rate of decay has slowed. When I left, we perhaps had a week left. Now, I would estimate a year, before everything collapses and is destroyed."

Sarah took a deep breath, folding her arms to keep the cold wind from cutting too deep. "So you're saying that by me writing that play I've, what, let the real world into the Labyrinth? How is that even possible."

He turned to face her, away from his ruined kingdom. "Obviously, you remember your first journey. Did you think that almost everything you encountered just, out of coincidence, looked exactly how you imagined? That I looked exactly as you imagined?" He stretched out his arms, inviting her to look him over.

She blushed. "Not exactly. And you look different now," she said, immediately regretting it since, if anything, he was more to her taste than before.

He smiled, still unkind. "Yes, well, you're no longer a young girl impressed by long hair and leather trousers."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she said without thinking, and to cover it up hastened to add, "how bad is it?"

Jareth gestured down to the gate. "Why don't you look."

Sarah rushed down the hill, halfway down before she thought to ask if it was safe. Of course it wasn't safe, she realized. High on the ridge to the west was the castle. The jutting sunrays threw it silhouette against the sky.

As she approached the gate, a quote from an old book came to her, unbidden: _and if you do lose yourself at least take solace in the absolute certainty that you will perish._

At the threshold she looked back. Jareth was still on the hill, walking down after her. The gate was as she remembered, although the walls on either side had collapsed in rocky waves of debris. She reached out tentatively, to touch the stone of the gate.

That, at least, was exactly how she remembered.

She stepped through the gate—it wasn't hard, like last time. As soon as she thought last time, she realized that maybe she hadn't defeated anything at all. Just postponed it.

It was colder, and the stone was paler than she remembered—more limestone than the golden brown-thorned hues of her previous adventure. The vines were alive, in slippery greens, and some of them even flowered little spits of bruise-color. There was a strange subtle glitter to the walls, and they were cold to the touch. At least there was something familiar-ahead were the same initial stretched out walls she remembered.

She went left.

While it was unsettling, and she stumbled a few times, all Sarah could think was that it sure was nice to be out of that stupid room and actually indulging in some physical activity.

The rubble and destroyed parts looked even more of a desperate wound close up. She quickly sidestepped into what she thought was a pathway.

It turned out to be a very disturbing room.

The space almost looked almost like—but it couldn't be, obviously—the stage her production had first ran in. A little theater in Connecticut. The effect was positively uncanny in every sense of the word. Instead of the wood and tattered carpet and too old light fixtures, everything was in stone and metal and vine, all lit by candlelight. The chairs were gnarled dead tree stumps and branches draped in fabric. The stage was stone. Upon the stage were two figures; both unnaturally tall, also in draped fabrics that hung off shoulders and angles sharp as hangers. Their slimness and strange grace seemed to suggest female; their height and bearing suggested male. Only when she looked at their faces did she realize it was a mostly moot point—they were not even human. Their mouths were far, far too wide and full of teeth.

As Sarah entered, they both turned to look at her. She froze.

"Who are you?" one of them hissed.

"No one," Sarah said, after a brief panic. The slightly shorter one started lurching toward her, and before she could think she turned and ran back into the labyrinth halls.

Straight into Jareth. He caught her, steadying her with his hands on her hips.

Sarah didn't think, she just steadied a hand on his chest. "Jareth. Oh my god. This place has gotten extremely creepy."

He gave one of his wounded sneer-smiles. "They're only here because of you."

She pulled from him and walked away without a word, before realizing that her (admittedly enormous) impatience with Jareth was starting to give way to fear. He was rubbing off on her.

She took the next available turn.

Into the same room.

The two figures turned again. "We have been waiting," the taller one said. Its eyes were large and blank.

Sarah didn't react this time, just quickly strode out. Jareth was no longer there.

The third and fourth and fifth room were the same, each time the two figures standing a little closer to the door.

In the fifth room, one reached out a long arm with too many joints, saying something she didn't understand.

Having had enough, she raced out of the room and continued racing back to the entrance. She told herself running was the most efficient way, but in reality she wanted to put as much distance between herself and the rooms as she could.

Jareth was leaning in the gate's archway. He watched her approach. "Had enough?" he asked as she joined him, standing across from him.

Sarah took a deep breath. "I don't remember the labyrinth being so deeply creepy. Or repetitive. Or…broken. Is that room with the figures just repeated endlessly?"

"I have never seen that room before. I am certain it will not be here tomorrow."

Sarah ran her hands through her hair. "That was my theater. The first place my play ran."

"I know," he said dismissively, which irritated her, but she continued.

"Jareth—I don't understand. Why is—I mean like you said there was stuff from my head before. Does it twist and react to every new runner?"

He looked away, at nothing. "To a degree. You shaped and defined this place more than most. You still do." He turned to her, his face solemn. "But you are twisting and altering it beyond my power to control. I need you to stay here."

"You have no—"

"_Then go home_," he hissed.

They stood in silence.

"I am this land's king," he said finally. "Many of my subjects are dead or missing. Those that remain are looking to me. I must do what I can to ensure the safety and stability of my kingdom. Before you got here, we perhaps had a fortnight before it all collapsed. Now, we have months. But it still…" he trailed off.

Sarah looked up at him. His face was drawn again, and she could see exhaustion and despair slipping through. It stung her. Not that she cared. But she did owe this place—him—quite a bit, she supposed.

"Thank you for showing me," she said. "I guess. I still don't understand why it's me. I still don't even understand what you are."

He laughed. "I know. I saw your play," he said, with a hint of suggestion.

Sarah blushed. The Minos/Minotaur character had been conflated into a monstrous king, and Ariadne had some, well, intimate exchanges with him. "That wasn't—that wasn't you."

He cocked his head. "Really." Jareth reached out his hand to cup her chin, and draw her gaze up to his. His lips were tight; his eyes hooded. He looked contemptuous. "If we in this place—if I—am bound to you, then you are bound to us. And what do you think will happen to you if we disappear?"

She said nothing, but felt suddenly scooped out and cold. "What—what will happen?"

His contempt turned to weariness, and he released her face to stroke her cheek briefly. "Suffice to say that you will be destroyed as well."

Sarah took a deep shuddering breath. She didn't want to believe him. She didn't seem to have any other path.

"Well, what can we do?" she asked. The sharpness in her voice surprised her. "What the hell am I going to do here indefinitely? Don't you have like, fellow fae or goblins or elves or whatever the hell you are that can address this?"

"Elves?"

"_Jareth_."

He drew himself up defensively, before he stopped and laughed. "Would you like to come to court?"

"Like…your goblin room?"

"No. Court. There's a gathering tonight."

"I don't know what any of those things mean."

"Or I could take you to the castle and you could amuse yourself until I return."

Sarah closed the distance between them and took his arm. "Let's go to court, then."

And with a breath, they were gone from the dusty landscape. In the distance, avalanches of stone and creature groaned, and something screamed, and fell silent.

A/N

YOU GUYS. I watched _Labyrinth_ again a couple weeks ago with one of my besties to help celebrate my thesis being done. It was the first time I had seen it in full in like several years—and then the whole rest of plot for this fic just came to me.

As a teen I had never noticed that Jareth was actually kind of a desperate frightened character. He needs Sarah, for some reason he isn't telling her, because to tell her would give her a real idea of the power she wielded. ANYWAY so that's the premise we're going from.

And since desperate people do potentially desperate things, and since every character is an adult, I can make this darker and dare I say sexier than originally planned.

Expect more soon! Happy holidays!

~~Dollfayce


	5. At the Center

**AT THE CENTER**

The idea of a House built expressly so that people will become lost in it may be stranger than the idea of a man with the head of a bull, and yet the two ideas may reinforce one another.  
... It is fitting that at the center of a monstrous House should live a monstrous inhabitant.

- 'The Book of Imaginary Beings', Jorge Luis Borges

Jareth and Sarah appeared in what seemed to be a small anteroom, cordoned off by drapes. There was some furniture—a table, a chaise longue, carpets and furs, a bizarrely shaped mirror—but most was the weird architecture, that mix of primitive and decadent, that prevailed in Jareth's castle and that ballroom she had been in. Seating and reclining spaces were built and scooped right into the stone. Sarah wondered if that was just expedient as the owner could change it at his or her whim, or whether creatures like Jareth liked their decoration that permanent.

Outside the veils and gauzy curtains, she could see shadows and blurs pass by against a paler background.

"Is this the court?" she asked, not bothering to be surprised or nonplussed anymore.

"Yes," he said.

She walked gingerly to the translucent drapes, pulling them back very slowly.

She looked out at vast pale room with a high nave—she was reminded of nothing so much as a cathedral of marble and crystal. Huge windows let in diffused light from a sky of dark snarls of cloud.

There was even an ambulatory, of which their current room abutted. People—creatures—walked slowly around it, in pairs or in groups, only in a few cases alone. Most were crowded into the center. A woman crossed her field of vision, turning to look at her clutching the curtains around her face with an amused but polite curiosity. Sarah jerked her head back into the room.

"Whose court is this?" she asked. "Yours? I thought you were the king."

He nodded. "The goblin king, ruling over a goblin court. This is a fae court, of a friend." He folded his arms. "I don't think your understanding of court adequately expresses the finer semantics of this place. Think of it as a neutral meeting ground, presided over by the only one all of us...have a profound respect for."

Sarah asked the first question that popped into her head. "But you're not a goblin."

"What? Of course I am. Don't be stupid."

She raised an eyebrow at his last command, but let it slide. "Are you telling me that under—that—" she said lamely, waving her finger and gesturing him up and down, "there's a…" she couldn't think of a way she could say it politely or without sounding lewd. "Is this not what you look like?"

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, obviously considering several answers. Happily for Sarah he settled on the most obvious. "Of course this is how I look. There are many kinds of goblin, just as there are many kinds of fae and vampire and nymph and sprite."

"Is it like a political affiliation?" she said drily.

Obviously he was not going to honor that with an answer. He folded his arms. "Are you ready? You can meet them. Talk to them."

Sarah folded her arms. One part of her was incandescent with rage at how he was exerting power over her despite all his and her protestations to the contrary. "Why are you doing this? Why am I not still in the round room?"

His face looked drawn and tired, for a moment, then he shrugged his thin shoulders. "Like I've said and reiterated, I don't want to cause you pain. You made a choice to stay here, so I am happy to make it as pleasant and possible."

She paused for a moment. "I still don't forgive you, Jareth, for everything you've done." She wanted to, a little, because she did feel he was acting defensively as well as selfishly, instead of just enjoying lording his power over her. She wondered why her stating this fact did not bring her home like last time. Perhaps it had to be at a cinematically dramatic moment. Or at least until they were on an equal playing field.

If the sentiment hurt him at all he did not show it. "That is your choice to make, of course."

Sarah looked down. Her clothes had been being mysteriously washed and pressed regularly while she slept, but they were still not the stuff for a fae court, whatever that was. After her initial experience in the Labyrinth Sarah had gone through great lengths

"Can I go out like this? I can't go out like this."

Jareth looked her up and down, calculatingly. "Perhaps not." He drew out a crystal from heaven knows where and crushed it in his hand, before blowing what was, as far as she was concerned, broken glass into her face.

She cried out and drew up her hands to shield herself for the barrage that never came. Instead, when she looked down, she was in the same overblown white ballgown she had worn at a very naive fifteen.

Seeing the thing affected her more profoundly than she might have expected. She felt a little faint, remembering. She was reminded of the lurch of just being about to trip—or jerking awake as you dreamed of falling. That dream ball had been such a strange experience walled off to fester—it was not ready for any sort of the conscious-bringing –out-into-the-open that this was.

"No…" she murmured, before looking up at him defiantly, not even countenancing his smirk. "God, Jareth, not this," she said, perhaps a little too loudly. "It's not the freaking eighties. When's the last time you've been above in New York for any length of time?"

He didn't answer; just held out his hand.

"What," she said.

"Give me your hand."

She placed her hand in his, haltingly. He took it and after kissing it to his lips—she blushed, angry—he put his other hand over hers, cradling her hand between his. She set her mouth into a frown as her body betrayed her, fluttering at his touch. He drew back his top hand to reveal her own hand cradling a crystal sphere.

"Aah!" she said, panicking. Was he going to crush glass into her palm as she had done to him? "I'm sorry about hurting your hand earlier, I won't—"

"I'm not going to hurt you," he laughed. "Here. I'll show you how to change yourself."

After he said that, he crunched her hand closed over the crystal. Sarah heard a muted pop, like a crumpled Christmas ornament, and she closed her eyes and waited for pain—that never came.

He let go of her hand, slowly. "Now," he said. "Think of something you'd like to wear. And blow into your hand."

She paused. He was looking simultaneously smug and delighted, like a cat who had brought its owner a dead mouse. She paused, imagined one of the more restrained Alexander McQueen dresses as she thought the tattered structure and influence of nature might fit in, and blew. Even though she was careful, crystal dust got into her eyes and it took her a moment to blink it away

She looked in the mirror. It was perfect. More ridiculous in its own way than the white monstrosity, but at least it was a more modern ridiculous. It was a dark bloody color that wrapped and bound her body like it was a living thing, yet she could still move—unlike the white dress. She loved it.

Jareth evinced no surprise at her choice. Instead, he came to stand behind her as she looked in the mirror. His expression was unreadable.

She looked at the two of them in the mirror. They looked like a couple—a handsome couple. Her face was leaner, sharper than it used to be, and he was less jaggedly put together and more subdued in dress, but it was the same as before.

"You'll be here as my guest," Jareth said, "which should preclude any abuse or threat, at least for now. "

"Abuse?" she said, fingering her feather collar. "_God, _you're dramatic. You know I've been around your friends before, if you remember."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sarah, I'd hope it would be obvious to that these are not the small goblins and silly creatures you encountered as a child. Those people out there are like me, and like me they live a very long time and they become very bored. These are real dangers, and thus will not appear as such."

"Whatever that means," she said, although she understood perfectly. She had been to enough alternative parties and clubs as an adult that she knew how to stay inconspicuous and close to her friends, if that's what she wanted. She just had no patience for his vague pronouncements. If her life had taught her anything, it was how to be hard and not cede power to anyone. "So, I'll introduce myself as some, what, some girlie you're amusing yourself with?"

"Isn't that what you are?"

She glared.

"Don't worry. They'll remember you," he amended softly, putting his hands on her bare shoulders. His touch was electric, and she had to stop herself from shivering. He must have felt her tense, because he withdrew, brushing her hair back as he did so.

"I missed you, Sarah," was all he said.

She continued drinking in their reflection. They looked lovely. Sarah did love to be admired, it was a weakness, and what few boyfriends she had had, she made sure they were exceptional in some way, be it looks or talent or both. But she had imagined variations on this scene since she was a child. She turned to face him. He really was beautiful. Her eyes lingered on his lips.

He must have seen, for he leaned in to kiss her, lightly, on the mouth. For a few brief seconds, she let him.

Sarah's heart dropped out from under her again as she pulled back, pushed him away. "_Stop it_," she said sharply. "That won't work on me. It didn't before and it won't now."

He look confused, which angered her further. She did not like being taken advantage of. She did not like being vulnerable. Ever since, well, ever since Jareth she knew that people will lie and manipulate and exploit to get what they want—and surely what Jareth wanted was not her.

"What are you talking about?" He said it low, and quiet, daring her to speak her concerns.

And what was she going to say? Don't do that, because I'm an idiot and these last ten years have been extremely hard, and all I would want is some magical dude to whisk me away to a magic kingdom. That no one I've ever dated has ever compared to the way you made me feel. That I have missed you every day. That I hate what you've done to me. That if you pretend you love me or are even attracted to me, there's a real possibility I might give in, in a moment of weakness.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," he said curtly. "I wasn't aware I'd be taking such a liberty with a woman who had, if she'll remember, kissed me of her own volition."

He said woman, not girl. Certainly not ordinary girl. She sighed. "I had had like four glasses of wine."

"I'll remember that," he said, nonsensically. His face was dark, his lip slightly curled.

Sarah, for some reason, felt terrible. She had been well within her rights to set boundaries—besides which, the man had locked her in a room for quite a bit of time—but for some reason she felt she had made a misstep.

"Don't…don't worry about it," she said.

He walked to the curtain and drew it back, gesturing—rather snidely, if such a thing were possible—outside. "After you," he said.

"Jareth," she said.

"Yes?" He smiled, one of his cold ones that just as often turned into disdain and hate as not.

She swallowed. She was experiencing a fear she could not quite articulate. "Never mind."

She walked out into the ambulatory, where she felt extremely exposed. So, she drew herself up and reminded herself that nothing could defeat her. She had, after all, ran the Labyrinth by herself as a teen.

Jareth joined her. She took his arm without him offering. He did not react. They began strolling around the ambulatory. As they approached people and creatures, they would nod respectfully at Jareth. They would regard her with naked appraisal, like she was a particularly fine exotic bird. Nice to look at, not someone you introduced yourself to.

"So," she said. "Who here might know about what is happening to the Labyrinth?"

"Hush," he said, looking around. No one had heard them, it seemed. "That is a private matter."

"All right, fine." They walked. Sarah drank everything in. This seemed a much more subdued affair than the ball she remembered. Then again, it was still technically daylight, although the setting sun was bleeding red light over stone and fae alike. The clouds still loomed and roiled. It was actually fairly nightmarish. She tried to see if she could find any humans, but everyone seemed very cold and self-possessed. "You said this was your friend's court?"

"I did. Although…friend, perhaps, is an overstatement. Rather, she wields a great deal of power and I am civil to her to protect my kingdom. Would you like to meet her?"

"Can she…uh, can she help us? Does she know?"

"Yes. She is why I brought you here."

They left the ambulatory and began to make their way to the general clot of people. There were recesses in the floor, with carpets and furs and cushions, where some people were talking and some were…more than talking. Sarah looked away quickly, stole a glance at Jareth. He did not even seem to notice. She adopted the same bored imperious attitude.

"Where is she?" Sarah asked.

"Somewhere," he said, not helpfully.

Something strangely familiar caught Sarah's eye, and against her better judgment she turned to a strange sort of dais to her left where—yes—

"Britta…?" Sarah said, before repeating herself a little louder to be heard above the ambient murmur. "Britta!"

There was her best friend, lounging on a couch that had to have been hammered from some disgustingly expensive metal to gleam almost opaline like that, while the fabric looked sumptuous even from a distance. Britta was dressed in black, but with blue undercurrents whenever she moved or where the light hit her, like raven feathers, Sarah thought rather dramatically. She was speaking to a handsome man with pale blue skin and light hair. At Sarah's voice, she turned. It was definitely her—or someone who looked exactly like her.

"Sarah," Jareth hissed. "What are you—"

"Sarah?" Britta said, with some evident shock. "How long have you been here?"

Without thinking, Sarah tore away from Jareth, picked up her skirt, and ran as fast as she could to Britta. On the way she almost tripped over another man, a frail blond, but after a hasty apology she reached what looked to be her friend.

"Britta, is that you?"

Britta paused, and gave her placeholder smile that she gave when she was considering things, like whether to give a guy her number or not. "Yes," she finally said. "It is."

Sarah went to embrace her, but as soon as she touched her, the people around gasped and stiffened and looked terrified. Sarah froze, and pulled back.

"What's going on?" she asked her friend. "Why are you here?"

Britta stood. "It's fine," she said to those surrounding her, attendants and court-goers alike. They visibly relaxed. The blonde turned to Sarah, leaning forward and giving her a polite kiss on the cheek, which unsettled Sarah more than anything else. Her friend never acted like that. Her friend was never so formal.

Jareth reached the dais, putting his hand protectively on Sarah's shoulder. Sarah was too surprised to brush it off.

He nodded to Britta, slightly, guardedly.

Britta did not nod back. She smiled her placeholder smile and said, "Ah, the reluctant king," she said.

"The monstrous queen," he said.

A/N

Common enemy uniting people, and all that. Britta's from the first chapter. I expanded her cameo somewhat, to say the least.

I can't believe it's been a freaking year since I wrote the first chapter of this. Freaking thesis ruins everything. Well, I have this plotted out and if it's not done by December, kill me. This will include my super-awkward attempts at writing sexy things, so. There's that.

Hopefully this chapter will provide a pleasant sort of procrastinatory respite from studying for finals. Or a celebration for finishing finals because you don't go to the worst school ever that would not take off time for Christmas if it wasn't I think a legal requirement.

As always let me know ways I can improve my writing. I'm sorry I used a Borges quote on a Labyrinth fanfiction. I'm just going to pretend it was like super meta and pomo and meaningful.

Anyways. Happy Holidays.

Love,

Dollfayce


	6. A Ways Out

A WAYS OUT

Freud wrote that 'the uncanny is that species of the frightening that goes back to what was once well known and had long been familiar'…Nevertheless…unheimlich (uncanny) when used as an adverb means "dreadfully"…Thus that which is uncanny or unheimlich is neither homey nor protective nor comforting nor familiar. It is alien, exposed, and unsettling…."

-Mark Danielewski

Sarah stared openly at Britta before turning to Jareth, and only then did she notice the significant yet relaxed way her supposed-friend-turned-fairy-queen Britta and wannabe-captor-turned-sort-of friend Jareth were looking at one another. Of all the thoughts rushing through her head, the one that she barely kept herself from vocalizing was, "I can't believe you two have slept together _and haven't told me_."

Her intellect kicked in and she realized the really troubling thing was not that not only was friend was secretly a fairy queen—or whatever—but that she was secretly a fairy queen or whatever _that everyone seemed terrified of._

"I had heard the human girl was in your realm," Britta said to Jareth with an imperiousness Sarah had only ever seen reserved for authority figures that Britta clearly thought had been overpromoted. "I had hoped, Jareth, that you would tell me yourself." Her white-blonde hair was pulled up in an extraordinarily elaborate updo, with feathers and claws, the overall effect being much more gorgeous and intimidating than it had any right to.

Jareth sneered, his brow knit, his angled eyebrows arched even more pronounced than usual. "Why bother? I knew you would find out. All by yourself." He actually seemed on edge, his stance defensive and his voice unnecessarily sharp. Sarah wondered what was between them, especially as Britta was no doubt the person he had taken her to see.

"I can't believe you know each other," Sarah blurted. Jareth and Britta, along with the surrounding courtiers, turned their not-unintimidating gazes to her. "Britta—" she started, but someone hissed at her. Sarah stopped, confused.

"Sarah. Forgive them," Britta said. "All they see is a human treating me with impossible familiarity." She smiled.

"Impossible…?" Sarah said, her voice lilting up at the end. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. "Britta, I thought we were—I've told you so much—and you—oh my god." Sarah felt sick, a sharp chemical twist in her stomach churning away her breath and voice. Her friend, Britta that had helped her with Italian flashcards before tests and taken her out for drinks and comfort food for success and failure—now an icy blonde set with jewels and too-pale eyes and strange power. Sarah actually felt weak. "I need to—" she felt her knees go weak.

Jareth steadied her, gently taking her arm. She leaned into him without thinking, letting his strength steady her. After a glance of thanks, she said, "My goodness. Excuse me. A…a lapse."

"I have…_returned_ her here, to you," said Jareth to the blonde. "I…rather hoped you might be of some assistance." Sarah noted the grudging humility in his tone, evident as steel and reserve.

"I don't accept returns, Jareth, as you well know," Britta said. She smiled warmly at Sarah, briefly rolling her eyes at her as if to say _god can you even believe this guy_. Sarah rolled her eyes back before she could stop herself—it was just too easy to fall into old patterns of behavior worn by years of friendship.

"I've tried everyth—I've made great efforts to-" he insisted, sullen.

"You've tried _everything_?" Britta interrupted. She glanced Sarah up and down, and it was as the queen this time, something predatory, not as her friend. "Oh, Jareth, surely not, I would have heard."

The suggestion was obvious. Sarah felt unusually vulnerable and stupid, like when she had wandered downstairs as a child into one of her parents' dinner parties.

A young man, one of her courtiers, tittered. He was immediately silenced by a look from Jareth. The blood drained from the young man's face, in fact, and Sarah again realized that she had more dangerous friends than she thought.

"Return...?" Sarah said, removing herself from Jareth's distracting hold.

"Oh, forgive me!" Britta cried, standing. All those leaning or reclining around her stood as well. There was some electric current, some heavy perfume of power and fear lolling in the air around the woman Sarah had believed to be only a college buddy. Britta took Jareth's hands, softly, familiarly, and leaned in, whispering something Sarah could only barely make out.

"You poor man," Britta whispered, "you still haven't found your way, have you? Well, I shall give her what she wants." She emphasized the stops and sibilants of the last three words—a coiling snake of a threat. 

"_No_," Jareth hissed, digging his nails into the woman's hands before remembering himself enough to let her go.

Britta sneered at him, brief enough for Sarah to almost miss, before she turned to her. "Sarah, you've come all this way—"

"I mean, mostly I've just been in this one bedroom—oh god, not like that." Sarah blushed. She was not being the poised sophisticate she usually imagined when she fantasized about situations like the one she found herself in.

Britta smiled. "Like I said. You've come _all this way_. Would you grant me a few minutes alone with you? There are things that should be discussed…just us girls." Now she reached for Sarah's hands, squeezing them gently before releasing her.

Sarah turned to look at Jareth, wide-eyed and confused. His face was dark, but he nodded, curtly.

Britta reached out for Sarah, but not before Jareth held up a hand. "One moment, my dread lady," he said. Britta stepped back.

Jareth pulled Sarah in close, whispering in her ear, the breath and urgency in his voice making her feel strange even as what he said frightened her. "Sarah," he said. "This is very, _very_ important. Do not take anything from her. _Do not take anything she offers you_. If not for me, than for you at least, _do you understand._"

She breathed in sharply, and pulled back. He was threatening, pleading, she could see. What about Britta could have him so worked up—what could he offer her? She couldn't answer before Britta gently put a hand on her elbow and smiled.

"Come on, sweetie," she said.

"Sure, Brits," Sarah said, smiling back weakly.

Britta moved her arm so she was holding Sarah round her waist, and led her away from the dais, which must have been Britta's throne, now Sarah thought about it. They moved through and away from the main crush of people, who had mostly stopped their reveling and were now watching them while furiously pretending not to.

"Damn, girl," Sarah said, under her breath, taking in all the fascinated beings in their fascinating splendor.

"Oh you have no idea," Britta said.

They reached a large curtained doorway. When Britta stopped, Sarah made a move to open it only to be surprised by a servant appearing from absolutely nowhere to pull back the curtain. Outside curled a balcony made of the same oddly veined pale marble comprising the floor—although cooler in color and more baroque in design, Britta's palace had the same ancient organic feel of Jareth's own abode.

Sarah looked out to the horizon. She balked. A terrible storm was raging outside, but with no sound. For a moment she thought they were located in the middle of a tornado. Winds choked with dust and mist whorled spiteful and chaotic in angry wound colors, and Sarah could barely see three feet from the balcony's edge, the storm raged so. But even her hair remained unruffled, and the air was still and silent as crystal.

"Oh!" Sarah cried. "Is that—real, or an illusion, or what?"

Britta walked to the edge of the balcony, calmly reaching her hand into the tempest—it faded and disappeared like she had reached into a murky lake—before pulling it back unharmed. "It's real," she said. "Feel."

Sarah approached the intricate railing and reached into the silent colored storm, half expecting her hand to disappear or burn off. She felt the fierce winds and grains of debris blasting her arm, chafing her skin and pulling her forward. She gasped and pulled back.

"What 's going on?" she asked Britta.

"A storm."

"Well, _obviously_," Sarah said.

The queen laughed. "It's so nice having you here, Sarah. No one ever dares talk to me like that here."

"Why not? Are they afraid of you?" Sarah crossed her arms. "Why would they be? Should I be afraid? Who even are you, Britta—is that even your real name? Ha, I never thought I'd get to say that for real. But the question stands. Real name?"

"Of course not. But no one really bothers with my name—please just keep calling me Britta, by the way, it's nice. I am, like your Jareth called me, the Uncanny Queen."

"That is _not a name_," Sarah said. "Sorry. I mean. Sorry." She looked back out into the storm. Britta joined her.

Britta had been her best friend since college. They had not been roommates, but had lived across the hall from each other, in a coddling freshman dorm that put their names on their doors written on construction-paper stars. One day there was only one star on Britta's door—her roommate had moved out mysteriously, she said. The next day Britta made a new star that said "David Bowie" and put it up on her door, maintaining the fiction through the rest of fall semester. Unlike the other girls in the hall, Sarah found it charming and sought it out, and they became fast friends.

It was Britta who she talked to about the Labyrinth, telling her it was a recurring dream. It was Britta who introduced her to her first major relationship—Thomas Newton—and Britta who helped her pick outfits for job interviews. It was even Britta who helped her with her play, suggesting she consider the Labyrinth and the Underground as a quite literally subliminal world in every sense of the world—which now that Sarah had encountered the Round Room, the Maze, and the Broken Men seemed not so much a leap of imagination as the truth.

With Britta's revelation as nonhuman, it was Sarah's real life that was rapidly seeming surreal. (Sub-real? Sous-real?)

"Why did you pretend to be my friend?" Sarah asked.

"I _was_ your friend." Britta seemed hurt.

"I just don't get it, though. Did Jareth send you?"

Britta smiled one of her weird half-smiles. "Not exactly. I was curious after your first encounter with him and I wanted to meet you. But I quite liked you, which I hadn't counted on, and, well, you know the rest."

"I mean kind of. I sure didn't know all my primary relationships were with fairies."

"There are worst things in life."

Anger and bitterness surged up, hot-white and molten. "But I didn't have a real life, did I?" Sarah said. "All of it was warped and manipulated by one of you lot, by Jareth and then him haunting me and then you when I was an adult, and now all of _this._"She gestured at the storm and the castle. "Did I ever belong outside the Underground."

Britta paused before answering. "No. You never did."

Sarah looked back into the storm. "This is a lot, Brits. A lot."

"I know. But please never doubt that I care for you very much."

"Hmm. Can you send me home?"

Britta frowned. "I'm afraid not. Just between you and me, that storm is not my doing. It's the dirty not-so-secret of a lot of the Underground kingdoms."

"All flights out are figuratively grounded, you mean."

"Yes. Jareth's kingdom is disintegrating, isn't it?"

"Yeah, he thought I could help," Sarah said. "And then he thought _you _could help."

"I…can help, somewhat. I may be able to even send you home."

Sarah widened her eyes. "But you just…"

Britta's face darkened. "Look. You met Jareth under—I was the reason you met Jareth—"

"_What_."

She waved her remarks away. "Sarah. Just listen. I've rehearsed this a million times, believe me, and this isn't any easier than I thought it would be." She took one deep breath, then another.

Sarah was struck at how even under her imperious demeanor and overwhelming appearance, this woman was still her beloved friend—overconfident with strangers, yet strangely timid when dealing with friends.

Britta continued. "There is a reason I am very, very much feared even among the fae kingdoms. There is a reason I am called the worst nightmare—and mind you, this includes the nightmare realms. I have earned the name Uncanny Queen."

There were approximately four dozen and seven things Sarah wanted to say at the moment, but she bit her lip and nodded for her friend to continue.

"Just know that what I'm about to do is because I love you, is that clear?"

Sarah couldn't resist speaking. "Britta—haha—you're not going to, like, _kill_ me, are you?"

Britta didn't laugh. "No. I'm going to do something probably much worse. I'm going to give you something."

"You fae are all so cryptic, aren't you."

"Don't be racist. And Jareth's a goblin."

"I do want to bring up right now that Jareth pulled me aside and said in no uncertain terms that I was not to accept anything from you."

"You don't know what I'm offering. And who are you going to trust—him?" Britta smiled. "Or me?"

Sarah was quiet. A short while ago, there would have been no question. But now…

With a flourish that was probably unconscious but definitely practiced, Britta produced a smallish oval stone in her manicured hand. It was set in an almost invisible silver chain. The stone was dark, but distinct colors seemed to churn below the surface. At first Sarah thought it was only reflecting the storm, but upon further examination she saw that it sparkled and flickered with its own inner light and depths. It was the opposite of Jareth's crystals—the dark stone was all substance, no surface.

Sarah tried to smile. "Without seeming racist I want to also say that an alarming portion of you have also presented me with weird rocks."

"Jareth's crystals? Ha. Just your dreams. Just shallow tricks. This is much more than that. This—" she closed her hand briefly over the necklace, shaking her fist gently like she was weighing the stone—"this is why they call me monstrous."

She opened her hand. "It is your deepest desire."

"How are they different?"

"Because, my human friend, my surface-dwelling darling, you have no idea what that is." Britta pulled her arm back, supporting it against her other arm while she held her hand with the stone resting in it open.

Sarah twisted her lips. "I guess not like exactly, but I mean it has to be something that makes me—oh. Like it could be death, or something, and I wouldn't be consciously aware of it."

"Or it could be eternal life, or something as equally irrevocable and devastating."

"But the stone never makes a mistake? It's never wrong?"

"It never is."

"How do you know?"

"I am the Uncanny Queen."

"I can't believe you don't laugh when you say that."

"It took me a century or two, for sure."

"So, but I could just say no."

Britta held out the stone, with a knowing look that was more queen than friend. Sarah was deeply unsettled. "No one ever has," the queen said.

Sarah thought. She thought of politely refusing, of walking away. Of listening to Jareth.

Of defying Jareth.

Of refusing this gift and being haunted by it for the rest of her life.

"How does it work? I can take it…and not use it, right?" Sarah asked.

"I can't make you do anything. I can only hope that you will forgive me for offering you this. If you decide to use it, it's simple. Kiss it, once, and it will irrevocably grant you your deepest desire."

Britta held out the stone again, patiently, regretfully. Exactly unlike the desperate urgency of Jareth, when Sarah had refused him as a teenager.

"Have you ever used it?" Sarah said.

Britta just smiled, this time a little sadly. "Oh honey. That doesn't matter."

Sarah reached out and took it, quick. It was colder than she expected, and much heaver. Not looking at Britta, she cupped it in her hand and tried to find the clasp, and then tried to open the clasp.

After an anticlimactic half-minute of struggling, Britta reached out.

"Allow me," she said, and Sarah laughed in frustration and turned, pulling back her hair. She held the pendant to her breast—the cold-lead albatross weight of it almost making her reconsider her decision.

Britta did the clasp, her short cool fingers on Sarah's neck giving her goosebumps. She patted Sarah's neck when she was done, curt and friendly. "There ya go, girl."

Sarah turned. "Thanks. I feel weird. A little dizzy."

"Just give it a day or so. Don't make any rash decisions."

"Got it. You really can't send me home, though, by yourself?"

"Even if the storms would allow it, you're Jareth's guest, not mine. Unfortunately."

Sarah looked Britta's palace up and down. "Too bad. I can see why you didn't want to move in with me sophomore year."

Britta laughed. "Don't think I didn't think about it, lemme tell you. But speaking of Jareth, I should return you to your host."

As they approached the curtain, Sarah couldn't help herself.

"But so speaking of Jareth, Brits—is he any good in bed?"

Britta stopped, appearing even more taken aback then when she first laid eyes on Sarah.

"What?"

Sarah grinned. "You heard me."

"How did you—"

"Girl, _you _taught me how to recognize that—the weird comfort and discharged tension between two people, etc." She stepped forward and pushed back the curtain, almost slapping the servant-who-again-appeared-out-of nowhere in his pointed face. "Oh! I'm sorry."

Britta caught up and took her by the arm, escorting her into the hall, saying nothing.

"Well?" Sarah whispered.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise," Britta whispered back, before looking up. "Though," she continued out loud. "That might be unlikely now."

Right outside the ambulatory, waiting for them, was Jareth. Sarah had never seen him look so—incensed, was the only word.

"You offered, I see, my lady." he said coldly, to Britta. "And you," he said, turning to Sarah. "You _silly girl_, you took it."

Sarah said nothing. Britta let go of her arm, with one last hard squeeze that Sarah didn't know how to interpret. "Hello, Your Majesty," she said, not meaning to sound as sarcastic as she ended up sounding.

"_How dare you_," Jareth said, although to which woman Sarah was not sure.

"Her audience is complete, Jareth," Britta said. "Your current discourtesy to me and my court is inexcusable. Please, if you have no further business, remove yourself and your guest. Your business between each other is best conducted elsewhere."

"But, Britta—" Sarah tried to say.

Britta didn't look at her. She nodded at Jareth and started walking away, back to her throne.

"As I said, Sarah," Jareth said, a sort of syrupy warmth creeping into his tone. "She is not your friend, and will do you no favors."

Sarah looked at him. She hadn't doubted he was telling her what he believed—she never considered that he might be right. "Jareth, I…"

He breathed in deeply, his face pinched. "The Queen is correct." He reached out and grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her to him. It hurt, and Sarah couldn't refrain from a small cry of betrayal—she realized that was the roughest he had ever treated her.

But then the world was swirling, exactly like the Storm had closed in on them. She clutched Jareth with one arm, the other reaching automatically to her necklace.

She hoped she had not forever alienated any friend she might have in the Underground—although who that friend was, she was no longer sure.

A/N

GOODNESS sorry this was so long.

As an experiment, I am going to see how fast I can finish this story. Constructive criticism always always appreciated.

Love,

Me.


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